Dad - The Tree

That branch that clawed clouds for soaring sentiments
now hangs limp, powerless.
That root that grasped ground on long treks
along Wessex hilltops, now lies still.

Love and toil produced bright springtime growth:
shoots exploring the sunlight;
six saplings shaking in the vibrant air,
with sturdy heartwood - cultivation of his interest in the land.

Fresh summer breezes stole his leaves
scattering them abroad,
carpeting the wide, green earth
with warm, bright, friendly hues.

Rough autumn rainstorms battered his brown bark
an attrition of complaints and worries.
Yet he stood firm and silent
with his shadow long against the Wessex hilltop.

The winter wind blew fiercely that day
striking those life-giving limbs
leaving his trunk shattered.
This bent tree succumbed to Nature's blows.

Soon spring will come again.
The space where he stood is a template,
with the whispering of skeletal leaves
re-awakening in the air over the Wessex hilltop.